


Enkindle

by UnluckyAmulet



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Christmas Party, Crushes, F/M, Female Reader, Fingering, Kissing, Oneshot, Reader-Insert, Smut, Sylvain Jose Gautier Needs A Hug, Sylvain's angsty childhood, The other Blue Lions are mentioned in passing, reader is not byleth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:08:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28298010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnluckyAmulet/pseuds/UnluckyAmulet
Summary: Attempting to get Sylvain into the holiday spirit is a lot trickier than previously imagined...and a lot more rewarding.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 55





	Enkindle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agent_cupcake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_cupcake/gifts).



> Holiday giftswap with my very good friend, agent_cupcake. I hope you like it, fam, and may we rave/rant about Fire Emblem for a long time together!
> 
> Happy holidays, y'all!

Garrag Mach often made an occasion out of every celebration, and it seemed that year was no exception to this rule. Everyone seemed to be getting ready for the winter festival.

The monastery was picturesque, with the first whisperings of snow falling, just gentle wisps at first, but you knew that soon enough it would be a flurry, coating every available surface and making the air sharp with cold. Those who hailed from the Faerghus region were used to such weather, though it seemed that most of them were still awash with seasonal cheer and had been helping prepare for the feast with considerable gusto. The place is decorated everywhere and wherever you go, you can smell cinnamon and gingerbread.

There are a couple of exceptions, though, one of which has come of something as a surprise to you.

Felix is in the training grounds, where he will no doubt stubbornly remain until Annette and/or Ashe show up and wheedle and pester until he eventually relents and makes a scant appearance. Satisfied they'll be successful in their task; you have a different mission to do. You're not here for him.

No, the real surprise is Sylvain. He tends to be attracted to social events like a bee to honey, every time lured by the chance at flirting with girls and decompressing in general. He's a disarmingly friendly guy besides and well-used to the cold, so you were under the assumption an event like this would be his wheelhouse.

Apparently, you're wrong about that.

"Sylvain?"

When you finally track him down, he's sitting in the knight's hall in front of the fire, his eyes looking like liquid honey in the warm lighting. The expression on his face is distant, no trace of his normal carefree smile at all. It's rare for him to look so serious outside of battle, and even then, he shrugs off most injuries or discomfort with ease. You know he has a high pain tolerance and he's not much of a one for showing distress.

Perhaps it's surprise at seeing it, this hidden face of Sylvain, that makes you pause in the doorway, watching him for a moment before you decide to break the silence.

"Sylvain?" you say, softly, voice carrying across the quiet room.

He looks up, surprised, and there's an instant change to his face. His faraway look vanishes, his focus now squarely on you. He's smiling as well, but you know it's not real, he's just putting on a pleasant face for your sake. The thought saddens you a little - you like to think you're friendly enough with Sylvain that he knows he doesn't have to do that, doesn't have to fake it with you, but that's probably a presumptuous thing to think. Even his childhood friends complain about not knowing what he's really thinking, though you're sure he has a good reason for not telling them.

"Oh, hey there!" Sylvain says, with a little self-deprecating laugh. "Sorry about that, I was kind of spacing out. You weren't standing there long, were you?"

"No, I just got here," You reassure him, waving a hand. "Actually, I was kind of sent to find you."

"Oh, right, the party..." Sylvain says, moving a hand distractedly through his bright red locks, rumpling them. "I, uh, well, it kind of slipped my mind."

"Slipped your mind?" you repeat, disbelief colouring your tone. "With all the extreme festive cheer happening all around you?"

It seems unlikely that Sylvain could have remained oblivious to the buzz about the monastery, and he heaves an uncharacteristic sigh.

"I guess I've been blocking it out." Sylvain admits, not quite looking at you when he says this, instead his gaze wanders towards the entryway. "Must have been doing a pretty good job if I forgot it's today."

"Why would you want to block it out?" you ask, moving further into the room - it seems a little awkward to carry on this conversation from the doorway.

You hover somewhat uncomfortably next to the sofa he's sitting on, instead.

"When I was a kid..." Sylvain begins, then he breaks off just as suddenly, like he's catching himself before a sudden missing step. "Sorry, I won't bore you with it. It’s a bit depressing. Just - this time of year doesn't exactly bring back the best of memories."

The words at face value might be a hint that you should leave him alone, but the way he says it, attempting to be matter of fact but with a hint of strain behind his voice, and the look on his face before he saw you standing there...you get the sense that being left along is the last thing he actually wants. But his reflective joking and deflection are hard habits to break at the best of times and dealing with sensitive topics has never been his forte.

So you stay.

"Your brother?" you hazard a guess - a lot of what bothers Sylvain can be traced, directly or indirectly, to Miklan. Sylvain gives a nod.

"Yeah. Well, mostly him, but I guess my family in general," he says. "I don't know if you already know, but winter festivities are a big deal in Faerghus, since we get so much snow up there. I guess it gives people something to look forward to when it's like that. People get together, swap stories, throw parties, all that stuff."

The fire crackles as he speaks and you find yourself moving closer, lured in by his voice and the images his words conjure.

"Anyway, nobles tend to really go all out at these things. It's often just as much an excuse to show off as it is to have fun - invite people to your home and flaunt your wealth and status. My parents would throw these big parties or go to someone else's and eventually they'd start showing me off, their genuine Crest baby."

His voice is bitter, hard, so you keep quiet and just let him talk.

"They never purposefully ignored him, but it's no wonder Miklan felt left out. Forgotten. And so he'd take it out on me, hiding my presents, tripping me up in front of guests, tricking me into getting lost outside in the snow. That sort of thing. Once he got so mad, he threw my gift from my father into the fire and it nearly burned the place down. My father was furious - he put the fire out, then dragged my brother off and I didn't seem him until the next day. My mother managed to calm everyone down and she did her best to cheer me up, but I couldn't stop thinking about what my brother had done or what was going on between him and my father, out of sight. It all happened a long time ago and Miklan's dead now, but...I suppose all this just reminds me that no matter how pretty everything is and how happy everyone pretends to be, you never know how ugly something is underneath."

For a moment you're stunned speechless. You know Sylvain has his own dark side - it simmers out sometimes, in things he says, playful jokes becoming razor-sharp barbs, all with a change to his voice. You see it in his smile sometimes, a tightness to his lips that betrays he feels no real joy.

But this is something else. It's like a lacerated boil, with foulness seeping out of it, causing you to recoil in shock. Something has been torn free, reminding you of yanking a weed out by the root. As you process Sylvain's words, however, something occurs to you, a spark of light from a match in pitch darkness. After all, what do you do once a boil is lanced?

You clean the wound, cover it, and let the healing begin.

"You know," you say, hoping he doesn't just laugh off your suggestion. "I understand, now that you've told me, about why you want to avoid the festival. But..."

You hesitate, and Sylvain glances at you, a wary curiosity on his face. A beat of silence ticks between you are you try to organise your thoughts.

"Go on," he says, and fortunately he sounds like he actually wants to hear what you have to say. So, you take the plunge.

"Have you ever thought that you should take this as an opportunity?"

"An opportunity?" Sylvain repeats, raising his eyebrows.

"You have such bad memories of this time of your time at home," you explain. "But you're not there anymore, and you're not that little boy anymore. Instead of thinking about what happened back then, I'd use this time you've got with your friends to make better memories. After all, you can only improve from there, right?"

Granted, the Blue Lions are not necessarily as nice to Sylvain as they could be. Felix and Ingrid were especially hard on him, an even if they had their reasons, it strikes you that just because Sylvain always laughs and shrugs off the criticisms the world throws at him, it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. You sit down on the sofa next to him, feeling more enthusiastic about the idea.

"Oh yeah?" Sylvain says, with a wry little smile and you can see he's not convinced yet. "What kind of memories?"

"You know, feasts admiring the decorations, dancing, getting too drunk on mead," you say, ticking suggestions off your fingers. You can't help but give him a playful poke. "And there'll be plenty of girls."

It's cheap to use that as bait, and you know it. Even if Sylvain has moved past the days of seducing and dumping girls, he's still an incorrigible flirt and can't help himself when a pretty thing passes him by. But suggesting there might be girls for him to have fun with is the closest you can see yourself to actually flirting with him. You've never told Sylvain how you feel - he's a heartbreaker and it would only end in disaster. Anyway, he's from one of the richest noble families in Faerghus and a Crest baby to boot. (Not that it matters much to you, but you know it does to other people.) You know it’s a bad idea to bring your own feelings into it.

No, you're here because you're a concerned _friend._ That's your story and you'll stick to it.

Sylvain, though, is a lot smarter than people give him credit for. You might be able to get away with pretenses at all this being platonic with Dimitri or Felix, but Sylvain speaks the complex language of romance fluently. Not every girl would stick around listening to a melodramatic confession like his and stay to offer solutions. You'd sat down on the sofa, but had taken care not to sit so close you were touching him, subconsciously imposing a distance that wasn't necessary. But you'd slipped up, just then, with that playful nudge. The may have been small things, but Sylvain knew the signs.

"Girls, huh?" he asks, a flirtatious lilt to his voice, the bitterness disappearing as if it had never been there to begin with.

"Yeah, I understand the monastery is full of them," you say, tone facetious, but...your eyes are giving you away, pupils huge and dark, and you're leaning towards him as he speaks like a flower angling towards the sunlight.

"And what about you?" Sylvain asks in a softer tone, tilting his head.

"What?" you ask, with a breathless little huff that's a pale imitation of a laugh.

"You don't strike me as the party type," Sylvain hums, enjoying the slightly flustered expression that crosses your face. "So, what are you hoping to get out of the festival? I mean, it sounds fun in theory, but what are _you_ in it for, specifically? I'm curious."

This wasn't the direction you'd expected to go. None of it was, but though you were immensely relieved to have pulled Sylvain bac from his downward spiral, the sudden turnabout has caught you rather off guard, which is perhaps why you find yourself answering him honestly.

"I... well, I guess I want good memories too," you admit, playing with a strand of your hair. "Coming back to Garrag Mach after so long, I didn't think it would happen. So, I don't waste a chance to have fun while it's there."

Somehow, it's the answer he expected, yet his eyes stray to your lip as you speak. He's always thought you were attractive, of course, but he reflects that there's something about a girl in the firelight that just adds something extra, a luminous quality he can't help but stare at.

Perhaps it's a cliché, but he finds himself drawing closer to you, his movements smooth and fluid. He often finds himself reluctant to hope for things, too cynical to believe in wishful thinking. Yet somehow, coming from you, it doesn't seem quite so ridiculous or out of his reach. He...wants more of this warm feeling.

"And so, you came looking for me for memories?" Sylvain asks, a playful little quirk to his lips that makes your heart skip a beat.

"Well, I mean-" you blurt out, but he cuts you off.

"You didn't have to come looking for me, right? I'll be the Professor or someone would've come by eventually, but you figured I'd be here, didn't you? I bet you volunteered. Did you want to get me alone?"

You can only make a vague noise in reply - it's easy to forget sometimes just how perceptive he is, that he can see right through whatever meagre defences to might try to put up. And it's not like he needs much, not when you're obviously starting to blush.

"I-..." you mumble, but the word dies like a flame fizzling out on damp wood. What can you say to that?

And then Sylvain closes the distance, whether overcome with the urge or sparing you the effort of trying to think of what to say next, you can't be sure. And with Sylvain's warm lips on yours, you decide that you don't give a fuck about the why.

"Sylvain..." you gasp against his lips.

"Mm... you taste sweet," he replies, his tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. "Maybe I'm not so worried about missing dessert, after all."

He has no right to make such a cheesy line sound good, but it comes out with such effortless confidence that you can't help but giggle at it, rolling your eyes at him.

He kisses you again, hand sliding up your hip, fingers curving around the dip of your waist. It's such a simple gesture, but butterflies stir to life in the pit of your stomach. You think about various other ways he could touch you and stifle a moan. This isn't like you, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't want this to happen. Anybody could walk in her at any time, yet you don't feel too alarmed by the possibility because you don't want to make it real by thinking too hard on it.

"So, what is this?" you can't stop yourself from asking, your voice breathless from kissing him, lips throbbing. "A practice before the main event?"

You try to say it jokingly, but a quaver of anxiety lingers in your voice and Sylvain notices it. He pulls back a little, gaze searching your face and you can't help but foolishly thinking about how gorgeous his eyes look in the firelight, like molten honey. It plays off his cheekbones and makes his hair go from dark orange to red.

"You, a practice round?" Sylvain asks, giving his head a little shake as if trying to dispel water droplets. "I guess I deserve that, with my reputation. But here, why don't I prove myself to you?"

There's no need to ask him what he means. His hands grasp your waist and he effortlessly shifts you onto his lap. You're glad you're facing away from him, because your cheeks sear so hot you have to actually touch one of them just to reassure yourself that you're not actually burning.

_He's so warm..._

His fingers pull your hair away from your neck and his lips press against your skin, making you shiver at his touch.

"Sylvain..." you whisper.

You're keenly aware of only there being two layers of fabric between you and him, one of them being the thin material of your dress that you'd put on for the ball - you didn't see the point in donning heavy fabric when you'd mostly be inside. Now you can feel firm, muscular thighs beneath yours, his firm chest at your back.

"You know," he says, his voice warm in your ear, still pressing lazy kisses to your neck and giving the occasional nip, a tiny jolt of pain to highlight the pleasure. "I really do appreciate you came to find me. I... needed someone to talk to."

The sincerity in his voice feels like a squeeze in your chest and you look over your shoulder at him.

"That's okay," you tell him. "I wanted to help. Make you feel like it wasn't all that bad."

"Yeah, I get that." he agrees, and then his voice drops a register. "Now I'd very much like to return the favour."

It seems dishonest to attempt being coy now, when you're perched on his lap, able to feel every muscle and something else nudging you in the back. So you don't bother acting surprised when he captures your mouth in another kiss.

His hands slide over your body, gently squeezing, delighting in the shapes available to him. He's never seen you all dolled up as this, and the colour of your dress looks great on you.

Yet he can't help but want to unwrap you.

You gasp out loud as his hands slide to your breasts, his fingers dragging across the sensitive skin. He tugs a bit at the material covering your skin and it slithers obligingly off your shoulders. Clearly, he's had practice doing this, but you're enjoying yourself too much to be jealous at present.

"Fuck, look at you," Sylvain murmurs appreciatively, cupping the newly exposed skin, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. "Maybe we shouldn't go to the party at all. Should we just stay here and have some fun?"

"Mmph-" you pant as he continues playing with you, sending a flurry of tingles through you. "Aren't you worries someone will come in?"

"I can stop if you want," he offers, sucking on the side of your neck. "But I don't think that's what you want. Is it?"

"No..." you groan, squirming on his lap as he pinches the stiffened buds, making you squeak. "Ah! Don't...don't stop..."

"You bad girl," he purrs in approval. "You like a little risk, don't you?"

Sylvain's hand shifts to your knee, resting idly for a moment, before it slowly starts to slide upwards, rumpling the fabric of your dress inch by inch as your thigh is exposed and his hand vanishes beneath your skirt. You sit very still, heart pounding in your chest. You feel like a mouse being cornered a predator, yet your shivering has nothing to do with fear.

"C'mon, baby," Sylvain hums, gently biting your ear and you hiss. "That's it. Wanna hear more of those pretty sounds of yours."

His hand is rough, calloused from sword fighting and wielding lances and axes. The contrast is all the more obvious against the soft skin of your inner thigh. You wriggle again, deliberately grinding your ass against his crotch and Sylvain outright moans.

"Fuck." he murmurs, like a prayer. "You little minx."

"Maybe I like hearing your pretty sounds too," you reply, emboldened by his encouragement.

You turn and kiss him again, cupping the back of his neck to bring him closer and he seems all too willing to be drawn in. But while these bold moves are a relatively new venture to you, Sylvain is an expert. His hand slides higher until it brushes the crotch of your underwear and your breath hitches in your throat.

"Nnh. Sylvain..."

"Mm?" he purrs, his other hand still idly teasing your breasts. "Did you want something, baby?"

Fuck, he's really having fun playing with you, isn't he? You make a sound of frustration that he's making you say it, but it's difficult to stand your ground when he's doing this to you with a few simple touches. Your body feels extra alert, sensitive to the slightest caress and you have no doubt his stamina and patience far outpaces your own. So you decide, somewhat grudgingly, to give him what he wants.

"Touch me..." you say, making sure to keep your voice down, so it escapes you as a breathy plea. "Please."

He hums in approval, nose nudging your neck as he sucks on your sensitive skin there and you know tomorrow there'll be a mark for all to see. You can't quite bring yourself to mind all that much.

"Whatever you want, sweetheart," Sylvain practically croons to you, his voice low and warm. "How could I say no to you?"

His fingers dip inside your underwear and mutters a quiet _fuck_ as he feels wetness there, coating his fingertips. Something as simple as feeling proof of what he's doing to you is very much appreciated and sends a bolt of heat straight down to your core. He sounds sexy when he swears.

"Oh...oh, fuck..." you hiss out, bucking your hips, involuntarily upwards, your body craving more of his expert touch. "Sylvain..."

"You should see yourself right now," he says, thumb brushing your clit. "Looking so pretty, all for me. I'm a lucky guy, I wanna make you feel good."

A pulse is pounding in your core as he toys with your clit and he watches your expression, lips parted and eyelashes fluttering, drinking in the image of you unravelling before him. You whine as he sinks one of his long, dexterous fingers into you and he murmurs encouragement with each shift - you lose count of all the pet names he pours into your ears like honey.

_"Sweetheart. Cutie. Baby."_

He adds a second finger, stretching you with them and you make a muffled keening sound, inner walls clenching around him. Sylvain manages to reach some place inside of you you've never come close to yourself, and you want more, more, more...

 _"Sylvain-!"_ you gasp, thighs tensing as you come, the heat swallowing you, tingling spreading to your entire body as your head swims with the pleasure of it.

"Sylvain!" someone else says at the same time.

Your eyes fly open at the sound of Dimitri's voice - his very close by voice. You whip your head around to look at the doorway to the entrance hall and a horrified noise escapes your mouth.

Sylvain, for his part, reacts with the speed and efficiency of a soldier doing a drill. He removes his hand from beneath your skirt, gently grips your waist again and shifts you off him and sits up straight, crossing his legs to hide the obvious hard-on he's currently sporting. You hurriedly follow suit, clumsily pulling the top half of your dress back into place and smoothing down your hair, lips still tingling. It's probably obvious you weren't just sitting here innocently talking, from your flushed face to Sylvain's rumpled attire, but thankfully Dimitri isn't all that observant and he won't ask questions even if he does suspect something.

"Ah, there you are!" Dimitri says to you as he strides into the hall. His clothes look crisp and smart but with a hint of festiveness to it - you suspect Mercedes and Annette had a hand in it - and then he looks at Sylvain. "Come now, Sylvain, don't dawdle. The festival is about to begin."

"Of course, Your Highness," Sylvain replied breezily, shooting one of his typical smiles. "We'll be right there, okay?"

Dimitri glances between the two of you and you fight to keep your face neutral.

"All right, we'll be waiting," he says, with a nod and slightly awkward smile, before he turns and leaves again, boots clicking importantly on the flagstones.

You let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding, then turn to Sylvain with wide, incredulous eyes/

"I can't believe we just did that," you say in a rush. "He almost saw us!"

Sylvain grins at you, completely unbothered.

"What's the fun in life without a little risk?" he replies, with an unfairly cute little laugh, before he gets to his feet.

And then, eyeing you from the corner of his eye, he lifts his fingers to his lips and licks them clean. You can only stare at him in dumbfounded surprise, embarrassed and yet oddly unable to look away, before he smiles at you, bows and offers his other hand.

"Shall we, my lady?" he asks, playfully. "I get the feeling you were right - tonight is going to be one to remember."

He sounds like he means it. He looks it, too, some genuine warmth in his eyes that makes you place your hand in his and allow him to tug you off the sofa.

"Is that a promise?" you ask him, sardonically, though your heart is pounding.

Sylvain chuckles softly before he leans in, pulling you in for a kiss.

"It's a guarantee, sweetheart."


End file.
